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Pious Deception: A Megan O'Connell Mystery

By Joan Hetzler

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CHAPTER 1

The wheels touched down on the runway, and Megan relaxed. As the jet shuddered and began its slow taxiing towards the terminal, Megan released her grip on the arms of the seat and leaned her head back against the headrest. She looked out the window towards the Atlanta airport without seeing it. True, the flight had been a bumpy one, but a different type of turbulence had tossed her around recently.
She remembered her boss, Glenda, saying, “This story is right down your alley, Megan. It’s what you do best —capturing the pathos of cruelty. We want a series of articles on the children of war. You know the kind of thing — interviews with wounded children in hospitals, stories of orphaned children and a description of the psychological effects of growing up in a war. Don’t focus on the politics or strategy. Others are doing that. Just show us the faces.”
And so Megan had flown overseas to the Middle East. It had been not only an emotionally demanding trip but physically demanding as well. She had spent two months warily trusting the professed loyalties of her guards as she visited remote mountain villages as well as local hospitals. As a woman, she had often had to fight against suspicion and contempt in a hostile culture, but she had written her stories of children orphaned, hurt, and mutilated.
Some stories were hopeful, a child’s smile despite wounded limbs. But most were heartbreaking. Megan closed her eyes and saw again one particular scene of agony: a child without legs lying passive in a hospital bed. A boy of only nine who did not speak her language yet looked at her in an expression of anguish that needed no words.
After two months she returned home to New York, presumably to comfort and safety. However, she had not been able to shake the sadness that had fallen over her on that trip. In the familiar hectic world of a big city newspaper office, she found herself thinking of orphaned children with sad eyes. The sobs of grieving parents of mutilated children shattered her concentration. She turned to her church where images of crippled children rose in front of the pastor as he preached the Sunday sermon. She followed her Christian friends’ advice and offered these memories to God, prayed, read her Bible, but still the images filtered through her days like a melody from a distant neighbor who had turned up the volume of his music too loud. Perhaps God was pushing her to seek further for answers, but, if so, she couldn’t find them.
Finally, she had asked for a leave of absence. Glenda reluctantly granted it with an admonition to get it out of her system and come back ready for a new challenge. Megan inwardly grimaced at the thought of new challenges. Instead, she packed her bags and headed home, back to Atlanta, Georgia, where she grew up and friends and family still lived, a place she remembered as warm and comforting. She wanted to talk to people who looked at her with satisfied eyes. She, who had always been strong and willing to take on others problems, wanted to forget for a while eyes that were cynical, pained, and wise before their time.
The plane rolled to a halt. As the flight attendants began their well-rehearsed and pleasantly phrased words of goodbye to the passengers, Megan tuned back in to her current surroundings. Gathering her purse and carry-on bag, she followed her fellow passengers out of the plane.
When she stepped on to the concourse, she smiled and thought, “Now I can escape from someone else’s agony for a while.” She lovingly rolled the word, “vacation,” over in her mind. No more deadlines, editors, or assignments. She could relax on an uncomplicated, uneventful visit. Little did she know how unfulfilled that expectation would be.

. . .

Stepping into the baggage claim area to look for her suitcases, Megan heard with surprise a familiar voice calling her name. When she had asked to stay at Lisa Rogers’ apartment, she had not expected Lisa to meet her at the airport. She could easily have taken a cab and Lisa worked on the other side of the city. Yet, here was Lisa, cheerful as ever, smiling and waving, her round expressive face surrounded by a mass of blonde curls restrained with a clip.
Megan smiled and stepped around groups of people.
“Hey stranger!” Lisa bubbled, darting over towards her. “I thought you were going to ignore me, just get your suitcases and leave.” Lisa hugged her, suitcases and all, saying with mock severity, “Megan O’Connell, surely you knew I’d be here to meet you?”
Megan set down her bags and returned the hug. “I thought you’d be busy at work and wouldn’t be able to get away. Besides I didn’t know office-bound computer systems analysts could take off in the middle of the day, especially at a company known for not permitting its employees to telecommute.”
Lisa grinned as she led the way to a distant parking lot and an older model Volkswagen. She opened the tiny trunk, reached down to lift a suitcase, and said impishly, “Oh, we aren’t always bound to our computers even if we have to stay on site. Besides, you can leave anytime if you’re good friends with the boss!”
“Oh?” Megan looked sideways at her friend as she helped Lisa put the last bag into the trunk.
She was not quite sure what to make of this remark. She and Lisa had been best friends in high school and had gone on to the same college, but they had not seen a great deal of each other in the ten plus years since graduation. They had kept in touch enough to know the superficial changes in each other’s life. She knew that Lisa had been briefly engaged but had broken it off a few months before the wedding, presumably because of differences in personalities and tastes. This had taken place not long after she had started work at the Coinder Corporation, a computer software firm set far north of the city in its own isolated park. Megan now realized that they had not kept in touch enough to know of deeper character changes.
She asked lightly, “What do you mean good friends?”
Lisa slammed the trunk shut with energy, thought for a moment, and said, “Perhaps ‘good friend’ is the not the right phrase. Let’s say he didn’t mind my coming to pick you up.” She paused as though she would say more but did not.
Megan looked at her, trying to guess her thoughts but they had been following different lives too long for her to do that. Instead, she tried to read the outward signs, the physical ‘thoughts,’ as she would do with any of her subjects she interviewed.
Lisa looked the same—petite, good figure, an athletic bounce to her walk with energetic movements. If Megan had to describe Lisa in one of her articles, she’d describe her as a bouncy, perky blonde with a pretty face and a suntanned glow of health. However, despite the outward sameness, Megan felt there was a change. Perhaps it was a tenseness in the way Lisa held her shoulders or a seriousness in the eyes when she stopped talking. Or, perhaps, Megan thought, it’s me. I’ve seen so much sadness lately that I can’t believe it doesn’t exist everywhere.
After her slight pause, Lisa looked at Megan and said mischievously, “OK, enough of your reporter’s questions. I want to hear about you. Such as, what are you doing here? It’s not Christmas, Thanksgiving or any other holiday that I know of. No one has died, is getting married, or is desperately ill. So out with it. What’s the ‘scoop’?” she said, drawling out the word humorously.
Megan smiled and glanced out the windshield at the road, “No major reason. I just felt a need to go home.” At Lisa’s quick glance, she responded, “I guess you could say I have ‘reporter’s burn out.’ I need a break from horror stories. I want to see some hometown football-hero-marries-sweetheart-and-lives-happily-ever-after stories.” She murmured, “I want to see It’s a Wonderful Life instead of Frankenstein meets Dracula.”
Lisa grinned. “I think you came to the wrong place, kiddo. We’re only human in this city. We have our problems here, too, you know.”
Megan said, “I know. I’m exaggerating. I just want to relax among friends for a while.” She turned her head to look out of the window at the sight of familiar territory.
Lisa said, “You, uh..., didn’t say much over the phone. I guess it was pretty rough over there. What did you write about?”
“The effects of war on children.”
“Oh,” Lisa said and then added, “I see.”
Shrugging off her sudden sad mood, Megan turned back to Lisa and said, “Well, it’s over. No more war stories for now. Are you sure I won’t be a bother?”
She added before Lisa could answer, “I know it seemed odd to ask, but Dan and Betty are really cramped now with the new baby and, quite frankly, I just didn’t want to answer a lot of questions about my job. Dan’s a decent brother, but Betty’s really inquisitive. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
When Lisa stayed silent for a moment, Megan wondered if her sudden call and proposed visit had been an imposition. Then Lisa turned to face her and smiled her warm smile remembered so often from college. She said, “Megan, I’m always happy to see you, and I’m glad you came for a visit.” She paused, and then said, “In fact, I think your visit might help to cheer me up.” In words unusually measured for her, she said, “I’ve been really pressed at work. . .” and then continued with a grin, “I don’t know when I’ve laughed lately. I think it’ll be great. Do you remember the last time we planned a visit just for fun!”
The two women began to talk about old times at college and friends they had known. The drive to Lisa’s apartment passed quickly.

. . .

Megan paused outside Lisa’s recently rented apartment and stared. In a rundown section of Atlanta, the building had cracked concrete steps and a door with chipped paint. Inside was even more surprising. In place of Lisa’s chic modern furniture and electronic gadgets were a rather old sectional couch covered in an outdated shade of pale green and a chipped glass coffee table. Dingy beige walls with few pictures contributed to the bare look of the apartment.
Uncertain how to respond, Megan said, “Uh, I see you’ve replaced your designer sofa.”
“Yes, I sold most of my things.”
Megan hesitated. Should she ask? No, perhaps not. Instead, she followed Lisa’s directions to her bedroom. An old wooden bed with a simple white clean chenille bedspread and mismatched wooden chest of drawers created the ensemble. The bathroom had one towel and no soap.
Was this the same Lisa? Her previous apartment had been in an upscale section of town with all the furnishings a woman with a good salary might choose. Even in college, Lisa had brought lots of pictures from home, wall posters, and even special flowered curtains for their single dormitory window. Her style had never been Spartan and cheap.
Shaking her head, Megan unpacked a few items and returned to the dining room where she found a wooden table and chairs of the kind purchased at a local hardware store in raw wood to be stained and finished by the buyer.
Although Megan had visited Atlanta many times in the past few years, she had usually been on a short holiday trip and met Lisa for a quick lunch or supper at a convenient restaurant. Sometimes Lisa had come to one of Megan’s relative’s home for a large holiday party for family and close friends. Now she looked at the economical furnishings and thought, “Either Lisa has changed or she’s been wiped out in a stock market crash.”
Megan’s thoughts were drawn away from Lisa’s odd choice of living quarters when Lisa said, “You know, Megan, I thought when you first called and said you were coming home that you were bringing someone with you.”
Megan raised her eyebrows momentarily at a loss. “What do you mean? Who would I bring?”
Lisa walked out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee, set them gently down on the coffee table and leaned back against the cushions. She kicked off her shoes and stretched, clasping her hands behind her head. She looked out of half-closed eyes sideways at Megan and said, “I thought you might have found a Mr. Megan O’Connell. I thought maybe you had finally forgotten Brad and let yourself love again. It’s been four years, and you’ve not mentioned any man since then.”
Megan smiled, sat down and reached for her coffee. “You and my sister-in-law have something in common. Every time I visit, she ‘discreetly’ grills me on my dates since our last talk.”
Megan, too, kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs up, curling them comfortably beneath her and leaned her head back on an elbow against a cushion. As she did so, she noticed herself in a beveled glass mirror on the wall, one of the few wall decorations in Lisa’s apartment.
Megan saw a well-dressed, attractive woman looking back at herself. A woman with shoulder-length deep brown hair lightly streaked with strands of gold and auburn. She saw a face with intelligent grey/blue eyes. It was a strong face, not necessarily a pretty face, with even, balanced features and full lips supported by a firm chin. If she had to pick a feature that she felt was her best, she would have said it was her eyes. They were always alert, actively noticing the things around her and reflecting back an understanding of that world. She also saw a woman who had loved deeply once, and now kept a serene detachment towards another such love. She had wrapped her emotions in a grid of iron resolve and did not intend to repeat a previous mistake.
Megan looked at Lisa and said, “I’ve forgotten Brad. He left. It was he who chose someone else. Not me. It’s over. What else is there to say?”
Lisa sighed and said, “A great deal. I can’t believe you’ve not met any interesting men in four years.” She watched Megan trying to frame an answer and continued, “Oh, I know it’s none of my business. I don’t want to pry into your life. I guess I’m just concerned. I’d like to think if you met someone, you’d be open to a new relationship and not close him out because you’re still hurt.”
Megan smiled, and said, “I promise I’m not still grieving. I won’t say a part of me doesn’t still hurt. It does, but it’s only a very small part.” Megan lifted her hand, putting thumb and forefinger together to indicate a small pinch. “I no longer feel the devastation I did. Gosh, I was so sure of his commitment, losing it was a shock, like being thrown in ice water. His meeting Caroline was so sudden. I don’t feel the surges of anger or loneliness anymore. I guess I’ve accepted it and moved on.”
She noticed Lisa frowning and went on to reassure her. “I do date you know. I’ve met several pleasant men. They just don’t touch me emotionally. I feel so detached, objective about them. Besides how can I establish a relationship when I may go off to the Middle East or Africa for two months at a moment’s notice?”
Megan raised her hand in a mock oath, “I promise I’m not wallowing in self-pity for a lost love. Besides what man is worth grieving over who didn’t have the decency to tell me he was in love with someone else until he was practically married.”
Lisa pursed her lips and impatiently jiggled her foot as though she were thinking over Megan’ reply.
Megan took advantage of Lisa’s silence to sit up and sip her coffee. She remarked, “I’m not the only one still unattached you know. What about you? I haven’t heard you mention a special name since you broke up with Stephen.” Megan had made the comment mildly as an amusing turn of the tables on her old friend. Lisa’s reaction startled her.
Lisa’s face froze. She swallowed. Her eyes glistened, and she turned her head away.
Megan put the coffee cup down abruptly and took Lisa’s hand. To her surprise, Lisa drew her hand away and began sobbing wildly. Megan walked to the bathroom, found a box of tissues, and handed it to Lisa.
Megan waited as Lisa sobbed, hoping the tears would wash the pain out of her system.
Finally, in between sniffs and a few lingering sobs, Lisa looked up and said, “I don’t know what happened. I’ve kept my feelings to myself for so long. I guess they just poured out when my guard was down.”
Megan said gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I can’t.” Lisa’s shoulders hunched over, and she put her head in her hands.
Megan had seen Lisa unhappy or frustrated but not this abject despair. After some moments, she said, “If not me, you need to talk to someone. What about your pastor?”
Lisa shook her head. “I stopped going to church.”
Megan’s eyes widened. Lisa had been involved with several ministries and active in her church.
“What about prayer? God’s still there, you know. He’s a good listener.”
“No, God wouldn’t listen to me,” Lisa sobbed.
Now didn’t seem a good time to preach, so Megan said, “You can’t keep this kind of misery pent up. Whatever the problem is, talking about it can only help.”
Lisa sniffed and collapsed against the cushions behind her. “Talking won’t help. There isn’t any solution.”
Megan said, “How do you know talking won’t help until you try it? I’ve never seen you give up on a problem before.”
Lisa wadded the tissue in her hand and began to shred it into tiny white strips. She stared at her hands without focusing on their movements. “I’ve never felt so trapped before. I’ve always thought solving every problem was just a matter of fitting the right solution to it like putting two pieces of a puzzle together—like a math problem. You know I’ve always had a knack for math. Now, I don’t know. Maybe there are insoluble problems.”
“Well, you won’t know if the problem is soluble unless you try everything. Doesn’t ‘everything’ include talking and praying about it?”
She didn’t press Lisa further or try to persuade her. Instead, she sat back and let Lisa think it over. Megan knew from long experience that help cannot be forced on someone. Help is most effective when it’s willingly sought.
After several minutes of silence, Lisa looked up, stared straight ahead, and said, “Maybe you’re right.” She then said with a sniff, “But it’s not a pretty story, and I’m not happy with myself.” She looked down at her hands again.
Megan said softly, “Why don’t you tell me about it?” Lisa sat up straight on the sofa and began to speak, haltingly at first. Her story tumbled out in bits and pieces, gulps and sobs.

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